Untold Parties
2/20/2023, Con/Jur/d

My parents weren’t hippies
so, I didn’t understand
when in the Fall
two strangers
greeted me
by name

“Hey, man,” they said
calling on the Ancestors
in twowordsechoing

The Unknown Country (the
one we fled when we were
Born)

And I said,
(or, I wish I did, although
when Death revokes
out citizenship, I’m sure
we won’t care,  caught up
in the deportation rather than
the homecoming) “I don’t
know you, dig?”

Saying, I’ve been there
even though we aren’t there now, Dig
a semaphore for continuation

of culture, and they would have smiled
and said in different words, “Well between
The Smoke, The Drink, The Snort, The Fuck
ing, The Music, and all the other 
conversations, who
has the time 
to commit 
this (party) 
to memory?”

And we would have laughed
and gone our separate ways
knowing who arrived
was always
different, from 
who left

Although it's nice to reminisce
with old neighbors, when I 
becomes We again
we’ll joke, on repeat

(having forgotten the divide
between fore and after)

“If you can remember
the party you weren't 
here.”